


mess i made

by OedipusOctopus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Swap AU, Canon Universe, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, M/M, Noodle Dragons, Trans Jesse McCree, but don't tell genji, but the dragons are even bigger shits, hanzo is bad at emotions, jesse and hanzo are besties, meddling ancient dragon spirits, no angst from jesse being trans tho, really just lots of talking, supportive mccree is supportive, weird dragon magic that i cannot explain pls just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22681312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OedipusOctopus/pseuds/OedipusOctopus
Summary: Udon and Soba are sick and tired of listening to Hanzo wax poetic about McCree inside his own head without acting on his feelings for his best friend. It's been going on for a year, and Hanzo is being a coward--an idiotic coward, and the dragons are sure he just needs a little push to confess to McCree. Obviously the best way to do this is to swap their souls so they have to walk around in each other's bodies!
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 2
Kudos: 140





	mess i made

**Author's Note:**

> did i write this trans jesse body swap au instead of updating my coffee shop au? mayhaps
> 
> This was supposed to be a quick one shot to get over writer's block, but, whelp. this is twice as long as coffee at midnight. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTlOmWwHrkE)
> 
> i have no idea how this one shot turned out so long and it's all dialogue but i'm tired of looking at it so here it is, y'all enjoy <3 (completely unedited so good luck lmao)

_What I wouldn’t give to kiss you right now._

An astounding pressure on his bladder rouses him from sleep. Hanzo groans and rolls over on his bed, lifting an arm to cover his eyes from the sunlight burning his irises even through his eyelids. His breath tastes sour and his head is pounding beneath his eye sockets, even though he doesn’t remember drinking enough last night to warrant a hangover. He can hear Genji’s voice teasing him in the back of his mind, _it’s because you’re getting old._

With a deep sigh and a headache ringing songs of regret in his ears, Hanzo throws his legs over the side of the bed and sits up. He opens his eyes, much to his immediate regret for two reasons.

One: this absolutely is not his room. (Unless Genji and McCree are pulling a ridiculous prank on him. Again.)

Two: this absolutely is not his body. (Unless he’d sprouted legs in his sleep, only for the universe to have taken an arm as payment.)

He stares down at his bare chest--well, he supposes _bare_ isn’t a particularly suitable descriptor, as the expanse is covered in a thick layer of hair, dark and curled and coarse. He takes in his left arm, free from the ink he usually sees there, replaced by even more hair; he looks further down, sees the stump just below the elbow usually hidden by McCree’s prosthesis. 

In the midst of his staring, his bladder reminds him of what woke him with a particularly sharp pressure. Groaning at the thought of having to… handle himself-- _McCree’s_ nether regions--Hanzo stands and pads over to the en-suite bathroom. He flicks on the light and takes note of the crumpled up bits of tissue left scattered across the counter haphazardly, the used Q-tips lying near the trash bin but not in the receptacle, and shakes his head. It’s all very typical McCree, leaving bits of himself wherever he goes. 

(Hanzo idly wonders if the cowboy leaving behind pieces of himself means that eventually nothing will remain.)

With a deep sigh, Hanzo slips his thumb under the waistband of his underwear-- _McCree’s_ underwear, he corrects mentally--and steels himself. He has fantasized plenty about these more intimate parts of McCree in the years of his pining (not that he’d admit it aloud) against all moral standards of friendship and finally being faced with it is daunting. He has imagined himself disrobing McCree in various methods, on nights when the sake hits his system in the best of worst ways, but never thought he’d end up here. 

Nerves properly fried, brain still unable to fully comprehend the situation of somehow being _in McCree’s body_ , he pulls down the boxers, and--

Oh. 

Eyebrows shooting into his hairline, Hanzo hesitates for a moment. His bladder is practically pulsating at this point, so he awkwardly turns around and sits to relieve himself.

Just as he begins washing his hand, an insistent knock sounds from the door to McCree’s quarters. 

“One moment,” he calls over the sound of running water. Hearing McCree’s southern drawl escape his lips startles him, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The knocking continues and Hanzo hears a muffled voice on the other end but can’t make out the words as he towels his hand dry. (He’s momentarily thankful he lost his legs and not his arm. While that brings its own set of challenges, if even using the restroom is this difficult without the prosthetic arm, Hanzo can’t imagine what everything else must be like.)

He pads over to the door and opens it, the metal sliding out of the door frame with a soft _whoosh_ to reveal… himself. 

His own eyes stare up at him, wide with fright and Hanzo takes in his own visage and it mildly shocks him. Surely he is not old enough to have gathered that many wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, right?

“Han, _aye Dios mío_ \--thank God--I mean--” Hanzo watches as his own eyes widen further as they pass over McCree’s body. “Damn, I really let myself go, huh?”

Hearing McCree’s casual, careless speech pass through his own lips is jarring enough, but hearing Spanish come from his mouth heavy with a Japanese accent grates in his ears. “You should come inside.” Hanzo steps away from the door and motions with the stump for McCree to enter, not realizing he’s swinging around only half an arm until McCree chuckles as he steps through the threshold. He steps away from the door, but hovers near the exit awkwardly. “You could have entered without knocking. It is your abode, in any case.”

As if embarrassed by the mess inside his own room, McCree begins picking up loose trash around the room and depositing it in the waste bin near his bed. “I didn’t wanna walk in on any… compromisin’ situations.”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “How exactly would I find myself in a ‘compromising situation?’”

McCree sighs and tosses the last spare wrapper into the trash can. He plops himself onto the edge of the bed, arranging himself into a cross-legged position that is entirely unbecoming of Hanzo’s body. He won’t meet Hanzo’s gaze. “Look, I heard you flushin’, so I think I owe you an explanation--”

Hanzo raises a hand, palm up as if to physically stop McCree from speaking. “You owe nothing of the sort.”

Keeping his eyes downcast, McCree continues, “No, I do. I didn’t mean to hide this from you, Han.”

Hanzo lets both his arms fall to his sides, his shoulders loosening slightly. He smiles softly, hoping the small upturn of lips doesn’t look strange on McCree’s face, usually split in half by a wide grin. “You do not need to explain yourself to me. Or to anyone, for that matter.”

“Thanks, Hanzo,” McCree breathes out, relief evident in his voice. “Uh, but do you remember switchin’?”

Hanzo shakes his head and takes a seat next to McCree on the bed, the mattress sinking dangerously beneath their combined weight. “I am afraid I do not. But it is hard to remember anything with this pounding in my head.”

The laugh that escapes McCree comes out more as a bark than anything, and Hanzo wishes they were back in their original bodies, if only so he can hear McCree’s laughter in the deep, guttural rasp Hanzo tells himself he doesn’t dream about hearing against his skin. 

_What I wouldn’t give to kiss you right now._

And, oh--

He remembers.

* * *

The first time Hanzo had that thought, wanting to kiss McCree, he couldn’t blame it on alcohol or ending up in some compromising position on a mission. No, the two were seated across a folding card table tucked into the corner of the rec room, Lucio to Hanzo’s left and Hana to his right. McCree had just fantastically lost yet another game of Mario Party and declared that ‘these games favour the young'uns’ before insisting they play a _real_ game--poker, of course. Hanzo chuckled lowly and uttered, “Are you sure you wish to play former yakuza in a game of poker?” to which McCree responded, “Ain’t no other way I’d like it, doll.” 

That McCree had an oral fixation was undoubtedly such a large part of his personality, so much so that it was the first thing Hanzo noticed of the man, even before the ridiculous cowboy hat and imposing posture. But this was the first time Hanzo found himself transfixed by it--as McCree looked down at the cards spread across the table, as he carefully lifted the corner of his own face-down cards without so much as glancing down at them, that damned toothpick ever-present between his lips--only ever replaced by a cheap cigarillo or, on ‘special occasions’ a true cigar--wiggled up and down with whatever ministrations McCree was doing with his mouth and it was terribly _maddening._

_What I wouldn’t give to kiss you right now, if only to preoccupy your distracting mouth._

He’d been at the Watchpoint no less than three months, and already the stale feeling of staying in one place for so long led him down this path of imposing misplaced lust on the first agent to spend time with him, the only agent that did not blink twice when he introduced himself as Genji’s brother--Genji’s killer. 

The true shame in the act was that it was not a one-time impulsive thought. No, it was the first of many times his subconscious would whisper _What I wouldn’t give to kiss you right now_ over the next year. Sometimes it was when McCree would ‘fan the hammer’ during their shared practice time at the range. Other times, it was when McCree would sing (read: belt horribly out of tune) old country songs, hips swaying to the inconsistent beat inside his own head, while cooking dinner on his assigned nights. One time, it was so magical and quiet and perfect Hanzo had honestly considered leaning in to the thought, physically and metaphorically, while the two were sitting atop the roof of the dorms and McCree whispered, “I’ve never been kissed.” Oh, how Hanzo had wanted to remedy the situation with haste.

The first time it happened, it was easy enough for Hanzo to pass it off as lust. It had been years since he last laid with another, in any case. But by the tenth time he’d had the thought, felt the desire to kiss the one who had become his friend, the twin voices in his soul spoke to him. 

_This is more than passing fancy, master._

_You are too smart to not understand where these desires come from, master._

Hanzo had shaken the voices off, resuming his target practice without paying much mind. But the dragons had other plans, peeling themselves away from Hanzo’s arm unbidden. Two shimmering, spectral blue dragons appeared at his feet, no longer than ferrets. Soba ruffled the feathers around her neck as Udon began to circle around Hanzo’s every step, not unlike a bothersome house cat.

“You used to obey me,” Hanzo muttered as he began to collect his arrows, his practice obviously finished for the day. 

_You are in love with master McCree._

_He feels the same for you, master._

Hanzo sighed as he slung the quiver over his shoulder, moving toward the exit for the range. “McCree is a friend, nothing more. My… desires are unwelcome. I will endeavor to quell them.”

_We could help you, master._

_We can make McCree see your side of things, master._

“You will do no such thing. McCree does not need to know about these private indiscretions.”

“I heard my name between all that nihongo. Are you in here slanderin’--holy hell, what are these cuties?” Of course McCree chose that moment to start his own nightly target practice--the man had had a knack for finding Hanzo at his worst moments since he first joined Overwatch. 

The dragons chittered and skittered over to McCree, Udon rubbing against his shins and Soba wagging her whole body back and forth like an untrained dog. McCree bent down and reached out a hand to scratch behind Udon’s horns. 

“These your dragons, Han? I didn’t think they could get so small. Usually only see ‘em all angry and tearin’ through enemies.” McCree cooed at the dragons as if they were pets and not ancient spirits capable of destroying entire villages in one fell swoop. 

It was all Hanzo could do to stare down at the three, lips a tight, thin line. It took him several moments to find the words, and when his mouth opened what came out was not what he anticipated. “Usually they are much more reserved around strangers.”

From his kneeling position in the doorway, Udon wrapped around one ankle and Soba the other, McCree looked up at Hanzo and _winked,_ the bastard. “Well, I ain’t no stranger, doll.”

* * *

Soba’s distant call of  _ We can make McCree see your side of things _ rings in Hanzo’s ears. 

The dragons’ words had always been riddled with wit, but never had they been this mischievously  _ punny _ before. 

The words were delivered by Soba nearly six months ago--Hanzo hadn’t had a second thought about what Soba could have meant when he said that. He grew too distracted in the moment by the sight of McCree coddling his  _ ancient dragon spirits _ to decipher the dragons’ coded message. 

He knows it’s in vain, but here, sitting next to the man who has become his closest companion while in his friend’s very own skin, Hanzo attempts to mentally reach out to his dragons. 

Of course, neither of them respond. They are tethered to his soul--surely they are able to hear him, but are choosing to be complete twats and not face Hanzo. (He hopes, anyway. If they are still connected to him and not to McCree while the gunslinger takes residence in his body, then they will be unable to reveal to McCree Hanzo’s ridiculous  _ feelings. _ )

“Han? You’re thinkin’ so hard I can practically smell it.” McCree places a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “That nasty face doesn’t quite look right on my features, darlin’.”

Hanzo scoffs. “Nor does your sloppy speech sound right coming from my mouth, McCree.”

McCree chuckles lightly and pats Hanzo’s shoulder before pulling his hand away. “Anyhow, I s’ppose we should get that arm attached and head down to see Angie.” Hanzo stands and moves toward the nightstand to grab the arm, but McCree stops him by grabbing his elbow. “Ah, I gotta warn you it’s a lil’ painful.”

“I understand how prosthetics feel when being attached.” Hanzo pointedly looks down at where his own prosthetics are attached at McCree’s knees. 

“Er, no, it’s a lot worse than yours. My arm ain’t as fancy as yours. Lemme tell ya, puttin’ these things on this mornin’ felt like a goddamn dream compared to mine.” 

Hanzo’s brows furrow together as he grabs the metal arm off the table. “I’m sure Torbjorn would be able to fit you with a more suitable arm than this if it pains you so.” Without waiting for a response, Hanzo attaches the arm, listening for the soft ‘click’ to let him know it’s in place. 

...McCree was right, the thing did hurt much worse than his own. The feeling is akin to getting the nerves recalibrated when a part has to be replaced--torturous pressure and pinching. Hanzo only hopes he’s able to keep his face neutral during the process. 

“Always rushin’ into shit headlong, ain’tcha partner?” McCree chuckles again, shaking his head. Hanzo thinks this is the most he’s heard his own laugh in one conversation. “Oh, uh, one more thing.”

Hanzo raises his eyebrow in silent question, looking down at McCree. There’s a nervousness in his expression that Hanzo can recognize in his own face. 

“I need to you to do somethin’ for me, depending on how long we’re stuck like this.”

Nodding to urge McCree on, Hanzo stays silent. 

“I know you’re afraid o’ needles, but--”

“I am not  _ afraid--” _

“Right, right, you ‘don’t like the idea of a foreign substance directly entering your bloodstream,’ whatever. You have an  _ aversion _ to needles any which way. But, uh, I’m due for my next hormone injection in a couple o’ days so…”

-

The good doctor, with good reason, does not believe them when they tell her of their plights. 

“Jesse, if this is another one of your stupid pranks, I swear--”

“It ain’t!”

Angela turns to face Hanzo’s body. “Hanzo, honestly, I expect this from Jesse but from you?”

“I’m afraid this is no joke, Dr. Zeigler.”

Angela sighs and spins around on her stool to face her desk once more. She taps away at her datapad. “Alright, jokesters, how did this happen then?”

McCree sighs. “Neither of us remember, I’m afraid. We were drinkin’ last night ‘n then--”

“Of course alcohol was involved.” Angela gives another heavy sigh, standing from her stool to leave. 

“Wait!” McCree shouts just as she reaches the threshold. “There’s gotta be some way we can prove it to ya. We don’t wanna be stuck like this forever, ya see--”

A sardonic chuckle comes from the doctor. She turns back to face the two men. “Alright,  _ Jesse, _ ” she says while pointedly looking at Hanzo’s body, “what were the first words you spoke to me when we met?”

McCree groans through gritted teeth. “Really? Ya gotta embarrass a man in front o’ his best friend?”

Intrigued, Hanzo leans forward slightly. Angela simply nods, mouth quirking up at the corners ever so slightly in a poorly concealed smirk. 

“Fine, I called you mom.”

“Hm, I remember it a bit differently.” Angela winks-- _ winks-- _ at Hanzo and takes a step away from them. 

“‘Mom, it hurts so bad, please kiss it better.’ There, I said it, please just fix us.” 

Hanzo’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline and a hand flies to his mouth to stifle his laughter. Sure, McCree can be a tad of a fool sometimes, but surely that is not the way he introduced himself to Angela. 

“Shut it, archer. I had a bullet lodged not two dog’s hairs away from my heart an’ I had enough morphine pumpin’ through my veins to kill a bull.” McCree glares at Hanzo as he speaks, and  _ wow _ it’s no wonder Lena once told Hanzo ‘If looks could kill, I’d be a limp fish at your feet, luv.’ 

Angela giggles and leans against the door frame. “You had barely enough morphine in you to calm a kitten, Jesse. In any case, I will need to take your vitals and run a few tests to try to figure out what is truthfully going on here.” 

-

Angela, as Hanzo suspected, was unable to find anything physically wrong with them. (Though she did click her tongue at McCree in Hanzo’s body. “I suppose you feel like you can breathe one thousand times better in a body that does not smoke a pack a day, hm, Jesse?” Nevermind the fact that McCree often shared half of that pack a day with Hanzo; McCree looked incredulously at Hanzo at the comment--it’s apparent that Hanzo has been better able to keep his own nicotine addiction hidden even from the good doctor.)

Of course, Hanzo knew there would be nothing physically abnormal with their bodies--his damned disobedient dragons used some ancient magic to somehow swap their souls within their mortal vessels. If Hanzo could speak with them, he’s sure he could convince them to switch them back. It was all a misunderstanding, anyway. Hanzo didn’t need to tell McCree about his feelings--it was a passing crush at most, likely nothing more than the need to have a bed partner for a night. Certainly nothing worth risking their friendship over. 

(Hanzo found it pleasant that, for once, there were no quiet voices in the back of his mind telling him  _ It’s been over a year since you started feeling this way _ or _ It is so much more than passing lust _ .)

“Level with me, Han.” 

Hanzo’s blood runs cold at McCree’s serious tone. In Hanzo’s timbre, it sounds nothing like the cowboy’s regular speech and it irks him in a way he doesn’t know how to explain.

_ He knows. The dragons told him, the traitors. It was only a matter of time.  _

But let it be known that Hanzo is not weak; he’s kept this underwraps for months and months of spending nearly every day with Jesse and he isn’t about to slip up now. Relying on his silver tongue, he recalls all the times Jesse has made jest of Hanzo’s (relatively, mind you--it is not his fault Americans are giants) diminutive stature and says, “I wish I could, McCree, but it appears the tables have turned and it is you who must  _ rise _ to level with me.” 

McCree sighs and leans back in his chair. The two are in McCree’s tiny kitchenette inside his quarters, seated across from each other as their plates of fried rice cool quickly in front of them. McCree’s portion is largely untouched, and that should have been Hanzo’s first indicator that something was amiss, that something was bothering the gunslinger. The other man always eats as if the meal is the first he’s seen in weeks and will be the last for just as long. 

Now, though, McCree sits with his arms folded over his chest, food still piled high on his plate. “Haha, I get it, you’re short and this is payback,” McCree says drily, no amusement in his tone. Brows furrowed in a way that Hanzo knows suits his face well, McCree speaks, “You know how we switched, don’tcha?”

It’s an accusation, but one spoken without malice--as if McCree knows Hanzo knows and trusts Hanzo to take care of it. It’s almost touching, realizing the other man has this much trust in Hanzo even off the battlefield, but Hanzo doesn’t deserve it. It’s his fault they’re in this mess to begin with, and while it’s easy for McCree to plaster that carefree facade to himself, the situation has forced a very private secret to be aired between them. Hanzo didn’t miss McCree’s fidgety behaviour when they talked this morning, the nervous ticks tell-tale of a McCree nearly on the verge of a breakdown Hanzo has been privy to many times. 

An all too familiar feeling makes Hanzo’s fingers twitch around the chopsticks in his grip; it’s too late to apologize. It’s happened, there’s no changing that. His time in Overwatch has taught Hanzo that there’s no altering that which has passed, but there is only moving forward to a more stable future. Even still, Hanzo feels the words on the tip of his tongue,  _ I’m sorry this has happened, the last thing I wanted to happen was for you to be uncomfortable-- _

“Look, I don’t know why you didn’t tell Angie. Maybe you don’t trust her still, I don’t know. But if this has somethin’ to do with yer dragons--”

_ If?  _

“Have you not spoken with the dragons?” Hanzo interrupts. 

McCree leans forward with a heavy sigh, resting his weight on his elbows atop the small table between them. “I mean, they’ve been loud as hell. Screamin’ and screamin’ at me all the time.”

Hanzo hesitates for a moment. “...Have they said anything strange?”

“Dunno.” McCree shrugs. “It’s all in Japanese.”

This time, Hanzo sets his chopsticks down entirely. “They do not physically speak to you, they speak to your  _ soul. _ It is all mental.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Han. I can’t understand a lick o’ what they’re trynna say to me. They’re mighty fuckin’  _ loud _ though. I don’t know how you can stand it, darlin’.”

“They typically are quiet. Sometimes they… need to be released because of the pent up energy of being an ancient spirit trapped inside a mortal body.”

“That’s what the noodle dragon business is ‘bout, then?” McCree looks down at the tattoo swirling up his left arm. “Uh, do I just ask ‘em kindly to step out or…?” 

With a sigh, Hanzo stands and walks over to McCree. When he’s only a foot or so away, Hanzo hears McCree pull in his breath with a soft hiss, so quiet he almost misses it. Eyebrow raised, Hanzo begins to lift his hand to touch McCree’s--his, he supposes--tattoo, silently asking for permission. Hanzo watches as McCree’s eyes widen ever so slightly before he nods. Hanzo brushes his--McCree’s, he supposes--fingers against the dragon tattoo lightly, reaching into the depths of his own mind to call out to the dragons. He holds his breath, hoping this will work even though they are no longer connected in the physical plane--he’s not sure how to explain to McCree to extend his soul to help the dragons out of his conscience, nor is he sure that McCree would even be able to, given his lack of connection with the dragons. He traces an index finger over the lightning bolt inked into skin, begging the dragons to present themselves. 

Several moments pass in silence, Hanzo wearing his metaphorical soul’s voice hoarse with how desperately he is trying to reach Udon and Soba. It seems McCree is also waiting with baited breath, stiff and still under Hanzo’s barely-there touches along the tattoo. 

Hanzo releases his breath and pulls his hand away, ready to accept defeat, when a blue shimmer begins to swirl around the tattooed arm in front of him. He hears McCree’s surprised gasp as the dragons’ spectral bodies form and peel away from his skin. 

Udon and Soba gracefully land on the floor of McCree’s cramped kitchen, chittering away louder than Hanzo has heard them before. 

_ Master! _

_ We did it, master! _

Hanzo chances a glance at McCree’s face to see that the gunslinger has turned slightly green, frown chiseled into his face. He thinks back to the first time he summoned the dragons in this way--the nauseating feeling of skin being peeled back layer by layer, like the world’s most unsatisfying sunburn, had overtaken Hanzo’s teenage fortitude and he spent the afternoon hurling into the bushes outside his room at Hanamura castle. He supposes he’ll have to congratulate McCree on not vomiting at the feeling, but later. For now, Hanzo wordlessly hands McCree his half-empty glass of water, an offering, a quiet apology. 

He turns his attention back to the dragons scampering around McCree’s feet as if they have not caused an extravagant mess.

In Japanese, Hanzo speaks, “Return us to our bodies immediately.”

_ Not until you tell master McCree you love him. _

_ Don’t worry, nothing will happen to your body, master. _

In his periphery, Hanzo sees McCree swallow down his water in no less than three gulps. The gunslinger does not appear that he understands or even hears their conversation, but the dragons so explicitly proclaiming Hanzo’s misplaced feelings for McCree does not sit well with him.

He’s about to speak once more, demand in no uncertain terms that they switch Hanzo and McCree back to their bodies lest they suffer being stuck in Hanzo’s body without being released indefinitely, when an idea comes to him. He’s never been particularly good at keeping his thoughts shielded from the dragons, but he supposes being a different body will probably keep them a distance away from them. 

Figuring this is his best chance, Hanzo kneels next to the dragons and drops his voice to a low whisper. “I will tell him if you switch us back. It would be incredibly strange to confess my… feelings to my own face. Surely you understand.”

Hanzo watches as Udon and Soba share a knowing look and chitter at each other for a moment before they speak to him once more. 

_ We are old and wise ancient beings, master. _

_ You cannot fool us, master. _

Hanzo shifts so he is resting on his heels, knees spread shoulder-width apart, as he stares down at the dragons. “Fine, then I suppose I have no choice but to  _ beg--” _

_ It will not work. You must confess to master McCree. _

_ Those are our conditions, master. _

Hanzo lets out a frustrated growl and rises to his feet. He looks at McCree, who appears minutely less queasy than earlier. “I must speak with Genji.” He begins walking to the door, pulling out his comm to inquire where he is located. 

“Wait!” McCree stands and reaches out to grab Hanzo by the elbow. “What did the lil’ guys say? Did they do this?”

Still facing away from McCree, Hanzo nods. “They did do this. I’m afraid they would not heed my request to be switched back.”

McCree releases his grip on Hanzo’s arm. “Why would the buggers do this anyhow?”

“A prank,” Hanzo lies easily. He ignores the guilt creeping up the back of his neck at lying to McCree, especially about something that directly affects him. But he refuses to let the true cause slip--he  _ can’t. _ “It seems your and Genji’s antics have rubbed off on them.”

“Well, surely they got their kicks outta this already. Why won’t they switch us back?”

Hanzo shrugs and thumbs open the door. “I cannot divine their reasoning.” 

He’s about to step through the threshold when McCree spits out, “Liar.”

_ That _ stops Hanzo in his haste to leave. He slowly turns back to face McCree fully, chest already rising as he struggles to calm his breath. He looks down at McCree over the crook of his nose, eyes hard. “What did you call me?”

“I knew you were shifty, but I didn’t think you were an outright  _ liar _ .” Again, McCree says the word like it is venom burning his very tongue. “’Least not to  _ me. _ ” 

The unmistakable tinge of  _ hurt  _ bleeds through McCree’s softly spoken afterthought and Hanzo internally cringes. He lowers his gaze, unable to meet McCree’s earnest stare. “They wish me to do something for them before they will return us to our own bodies.”

“Well, what do ya gotta do, partner?” McCree steps closer to Hanzo, so close their toes almost touch. A finger hooks under Hanzo’s chin, lifting his face up to meet McCree’s eyes. Hanzo feels McCree’s warm breath against his face as he speaks, “Whatever it is, you don’t gotta do it alone. I’ll be right here to help ‘ya, darlin’.”

For a fleeting moment, Hanzo thinks that he could do it, that this would be the perfect time--all he has to do is lean down a scant few centimeters to press his lips against McCree’s--but as he stares down at his own face, sees vulnerability and  _ something else  _ shining in his own dark eyes, he can’t. He steps away from McCree abruptly, watching as the gunslinger slowly lowers his arm to his side. “It is not that simple, I am afraid. I need to find Genji.” Without waiting for a response, he turns and flees down the hall as quickly as he can in McCree’s lumbering body, trying to push away thoughts of how close he was to kissing McCree, how warm McCree’s fingers felt holding his face, how much he wants to turn back and ravish McCree on his own terms.

Athena helpfully informs Hanzo that Genji is in the recreation room, and so he goes. 

As he rounds the corner to the rec room, Genji catches sight of him first. He is without face plates, so Hanzo is able to watch as his face absolutely lights up in joy as the cyborg practically leaps from his seat on the couch to greet Hanzo. 

“Jesse!” Genji latches onto his upper arm and begins dragging him into the common room. “Please tell them about the time we locked Jack and Gabe into the conference room--”

“Genji,” Hanzo interrupts, firmly planting his feet on the ground to prevent being physically pulled into a conversation with several other agents all loitering on the rec room couches. “May I speak to you privately?” Genji tilts his head, eyes narrowed at him, confused. “...pardner?” Hanzo tacks on, trying to sell being Jesse McCree, at least in front of the other agents--Mercy warned Hanzo and McCree this morning that they should keep this as quiet as possible so as not to raise panic. 

Eyes still narrowed in suspicion, Genji nods and gestures for Hanzo to lead the way. Hanzo leads them to the dormitory building, stopping short in front of his own quarters. Sparing a glance at Genji over his shoulder, Hanzo thumbs in his door code. The door slides open in front of them and Hanzo steps through. Genji follows, albeit cautiously. 

“Any reason we’re in  _ Hanzo’s  _ room, Jesse?” Before Hanzo can speak, Genji waggles his eyebrows. “Oooh, did Hanzo give you his room code? Are you two finally, you know?” He makes a lewd gesture with his hands that has Hanzo’s cheeks turn a bright shade of red. 

“Absolutely not, you fool!” Hanzo splutters in Japanese. 

Genji stares up at him, eyes wide. “Er, what? When did you learn Japanese?” Genji responds, also in their mother tongue. 

“I am Hanzo.” Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “It appears my dragons have… switched mine and McCree’s bodies overnight.”

Genji stares blankly at Hanzo for a moment before he moves to Hanzo’s dresser and starts rifling through his things. 

“What are you doing?” Hanzo asks. 

Genji does not pause his investigation. “I’m looking for a hidden camera. This is a prank, right? Hanzo taught you how to say a few things in Japanese and you two are just being big jerks because I put mayonnaise in Jesse’s boots a few nights ago.”

“You did what?” Hanzo shakes his head and grips Genji’s shoulder roughly. “Nevermind. This is not a prank, as much as I wish it so.”

Genji turns to face Hanzo fully and gives him a once-over from head to toe. “My brother is in Jesse McCree. Gross. I mean, congratulations, but gross.”

“Congratu--” Hanzo sighs, incredulous, scowling down at his younger brother, who is not taking this as seriously as he should. “This isn’t a  _ joke _ , Genji. Udon and Soba refuse to switch us back until--” Hanzo cuts himself off. He hasn’t told Genji about his… inappropriate thoughts of McCree as he has zero intention of getting his brother involved in his sex life (or lack thereof). 

A sly smirk spreads across Genji’s scarred face, eyes alight with mirth, the absolute bastard. “Until what,  _ aniki _ ?” The endearment comes jokingly, cloyingly. 

“It does not matter. Just help me fix this.” Hanzo gestures down at his--McCree’s--body. 

Genji hmms lowly, as if considering what to say, though that damned smirk has not left his face. He takes a seat at the edge of Hanzo’s bed, legs crossed, and leans back on his arms for support. “It seems like you know how to fix it. Just do what the dragons say and they’ll switch you back. Besides, how am I supposed to undo whatever weird spell ancestral guardian spirits cast upon you and poor Jesse?” He raises a finger to his lip inquisitively. “How did Jesse get mixed up in all this anyway, I wonder?”

Hanzo sighs and settles himself into the chair tucked into the corner of his quarters. He opens his mouth to speak, but Genji interrupts him. 

“Wait, if you’re in Jesse’s body, then you must know about his transition.” Genji groans. “Ohmygod he was so nervous about how to tell you and then you just…  _ poof _ , are in him. Ohmygod, Hanzo, you outed him before he was ready, you jerk!”

“ _ I _ did nothing!” Hanzo practically shouts. “It does not matter to me, in any case. It changes nothing.” He clasps his hands together, a wave of guilt overtaking him once more. He lowers his eyes from Genji’s shocked face. “I admit I do feel guilty that this was forced from him. I… should apologize.”

“And say what?” Genji lowers his voice in what Hanzo is sure is supposed to be an imitation of himself. “‘I’m sorry the ancient dragon spirits tethered to my soul made me see that you don’t have a dick?’”

Hanzo continues to stare down distantly at his clasped hands. “I… I do not know. I feel awful about having involved McCree in any of this.”

Genji is quiet for a moment, blessedly. Eventually he says, “What do the dragons want you to do, anyway? Must be awful for you to not do it if you feel so bad.”

“It’s unbecoming. I cannot do what they wish. I fear it will further implicate McCree.”

“Ugh, the suspense is killing me,” Genji says drily, obviously not amused. “Just spit it out already.”

Hanzo finally looks up from his lap to see Genji looking at him with a relatively neutral face--his brother’s eyes betray some sense of concern and it tugs at Hanzo’s heartstrings. “I… this must not leave this room.” He thinks about how devious Genji is and the fact that he somehow always manages to figure out Hanzo’s door code--Genji will find a way around that stipulation to gossip about Hanzo’s shitty feelings, so he adds, “It does not leave this conversation at all. This is between you and I.”

Genji places a hand over his chest in exaggerated exasperation. “I would  _ never _ gossip,  _ aniki _ .” At Hanzo’s glare, Genji sighs and schools his face back to that of a concerned younger brother. “Alright, I promise. If it’s this important to you, of course I will keep your secret.”

“I…” Hanzo’s eyes fall from Genji’s intense gaze once more. “The dragons wish me to… confess. To McCree.”

Silence. For several minutes. Until Genji clears his throat awkwardly before speaking, “Confess… what?”

Hanzo glares pointedly at Genji. 

“I’m serious!” Genji raises his hands as if in surrender. “I have an idea, but,  _ aniki _ , you have to be clear. If you can’t even tell me, how are you supposed to tell Jesse?”

Shifting his weight in his seat, Hanzo unclasps his hands and rests them in his lap, but holds Genji’s gaze steadily. “I do not intend to tell McCree anything. That’s why I came to you. Perhaps you could implore Egg to fix this situation since Udon and Soba are being absurd.”

Genji sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He tilts his head curiously. “Even if Egg ‘fixed’ this, don’t you think Udon and Soba would switch you two back again anyway?” He pauses, sighs. “You should just… confess your gross feelings for Jesse and get it over with. Since when are you a coward?”

“I am not a  _ coward. _ I simply do not wish to ruin our friendship over this inane lust.” Hanzo leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I do not understand why the dragons feel I must tell McCree about my inappropriate thoughts about him.”

“Okay, gross. If the dragons are being so insistent, then I have a feeling it’s more than just lust,  _ aniki _ . How long have you…” Genji trails off, not wanting to imagine his brother and his oldest friend doing  _ that. _

Hanzo raises a hand in the air and moves it around in a vague gesture. “When did I join Overwatch? A year or so?”

Genji’s synthetic jaw drops open and Hanzo thinks he looks incredibly foolish, sitting there like a giant fly trap. “ _ Aniki. _ This isn’t just lust. With lust, you think they’re hot, maybe jerk off to them a few times,” Hanzo scoffs at the crude wording, but Genji continues over him, “and then it’s out of your system. You  _ love  _ him.”

“Of course I do not  _ love _ him. McCree is--”

“--your best friend who you basically spend every waking moment with who also happens to be incredibly attractive and you wouldn’t mind fucking?  _ Aniki, _ you totally love Jesse.”

Hanzo scowls and opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get any words out, a knock sounds at the door. He moves to open it but stops short to look back at Genji, snapping, “Not a word.” Genji shrugs noncommittally and Hanzo supposes that’s enough of an agreement, so he opens the door.

Looking upon his own body is something Hanzo is not sure he’ll ever get used to (though he supposes he wouldn’t want to, anyway). But one Jesse McCree stands before Hanzo, fingers pinching the edge of his kyudo-gi nervously. At his feet, the dragons scamper around, playing with each other. 

“Er, these lil’ fellas have been real antsy since you left to find Genji ‘n I don’t know how ta calm ‘em down.” As if to prove his point, Udon launches himself at Soba with a high-pitched squeal. When his claws land on Soba’s midsection, the dragon lets out an ear-piercing screech that makes Hanzo wince. 

Behind him, Genji laughs full and loud, voice semi-synthetic. Hanzo turns around to glare at him, but he continues laughing. Between giggles, he manages, “Hearing Jesse’s cowboy speech come from my brother’s body is too much, I can’t.” He completely breaks down, giggling so hard he hiccups. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s hilarious. I get to watch your brother scowl in my face so hard he’s gonna give me wrinkles--”

“Give you  _ more _ wrinkles, you mean.” Hanzo smirks at Jesse’s irritated ‘hey!’ in response.

“Anyway, Genji, do y’mind givin’ your brother ‘n I some privacy?” 

Genji wipes a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye and sits up fully on the bed. He puts on the most stern expression he can muster as he looks between the two of them, looking for something. “This is so fucking weird.” He sighs and stands, moving toward the still open door. “Later, nerds,” he says in parting before vanishing down the hall. 

The door slides closed behind him with a soft click of finality. 

Udon and Soba immediately rush to make a small nest on the bed so they can take a nap, while McCree and Hanzo stand near the doorway awkwardly, neither of them saying anything for several beats. 

“Look, I--”

“I apologize--”

The two begin speaking at the same time over each other. Their eyes widen slightly as they look at the other before they both dissolve into low giggles at the sheer weirdness of the situation. Hanzo motions for McCree to speak first--not out of politeness, but because he still has a stupid grin on his face and needs to get it under control before he can say anything.

McCree straightens slightly, shoulders pressed down. A hand raises to the back of his neck--a tell Hanzo has seen the gunslinger give when nervous about something. “Look, Han, I know this ain’t your fault and I don’t blame you one bit for, well,  _ this _ .” He gestures between the two of them wildly, vaguely. “But you know what’s goin’ on and y’ain’t tellin’ me, and frankly I don’t think that’s fair considerin’ my body is involved ‘n all that. So what’s really happenin’ here?”

And Hanzo can almost look past the fact that it’s his own voice speaking,  _ almost. _ McCree is being so earnest, so patient, but it sounds as if he’s a little bit desperate for clarity. It should be easy to make something up, something better than ‘the dragons pulled a stupid prank on us’; it would be easy to tell McCree, the man who has been there for some of Hanzo’s most vulnerable moments, the truth but as he looks down at McCree, all he sees is his own stern features twisted into worry, his own hair tied up haphazardly with inexperienced hands, and it  _ isn’t  _ easy. He turns to face the two dragons lounging on the bed as if they are not responsible for all this turmoil. Udon lifts his head, tilted to the side as he looks up at Hanzo. Sparing a glance back at McCree, Hanzo speaks in Japanese, “Switch us back. I cannot… confess to the gunslinger while I look at my own face. It is too strange.”

_ We already told you that won’t work, master. _

_ We will not switch you back until you tell master McCree. _

“I will tell him, I swear it. I cannot--”

A hand grasps Hanzo at the elbow as he takes a step toward the bed. “Han,  _ please _ just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s obviously got you all twisted up and I’d like to try to fix it. But I can’t do anythin’ ‘til I know what’s happenin’, doll.”

As Hanzo stares down into McCree’s eyes--his own inky brown eyes darker than McCree’s, he recognizes the look McCree gives him when the nightmares are so intense that Hanzo knocks at McCree’s door at 3 AM. The words are at the tip of his tongue, the dragons are staring at him expectantly from their perch on the bed, McCree is practically begging him, and yet. “I cannot say this to my own face.”

McCree cracks a small smile. “Yeah, it’s real weird, ain’t it?” He sighs and releases Hanzo’s arm. “Well, what if we aren’t facin’ each other? Think you could explain then?”

“How so?”

In lieu of an answer, McCree sits on the ground with his feet in front of him. He kicks one leg up and rests an arm across his knee--a pose Hanzo has seen McCree in a thousand times, but looks terribly awkward in his body. McCree reaches a hand back to pat the floor behind him. “Back to back. Pop a squat, would ya?”

Hanzo hesitates for a moment, but McCree is giving him that expectant look at he can’t avoid it forever. He lowers himself to the ground and presses his back to McCree’s, bringing his own knees up to his chest. He entwines his hands across his knees and rests his chin atop them as he tries to find the right words for this moment. 

“Whenever you’re ready, no pressure. Your body ain’t too bad. I just hate seein’ ya all torn up inside ‘bout this. I’m here to help, Han.”

Hanzo resists the urge to groan in frustration. McCree has been nothing but kind and supportive and  _ okay _ with this whole mess, even though the situation has been unfair to him since the start. Hanzo has never considered himself a good friend (quite the opposite, actually--he often wonders why a man such as McCree would keep him around with so little in it for him) he is sure that constantly ignoring McCree in favor of speaking in a language he doesn’t understand to his dragons makes him certifiably the  _ worst _ friend. 

He feels the vibrations from McCree tapping a steady beat on his knee, feels more than hears as McCree begins humming one of his ridiculous country songs. 

“The dragons have decided to interfere because I have been harboring inappropriate thoughts.”

The music stops. McCree leans back more, resting more weight against Hanzo’s, but he says nothing. 

“About you, specifically.”

“Uh,” McCree grunts out. 

Hanzo ignores him. “It has been many years since I have been… enamored by another. I admit this is not my strong suit.”

“Uh?” 

Sighing, Hanzo tilts his head back to rest just over the top of McCree’s. He stares up at the ceiling as he says, “I do not expect anything to change between us. In fact, I would rather nothing changed.”

Hanzo hears McCree take a hard swallow. “By ‘inappropriate thoughts’ you mean…?” He trails off, presumably to let Hanzo fill in the blanks. 

“Thoughts about… intimate trysts, if you will.”

“Oh.”

“Again, I wish nothing to change between us.” Hanzo lifts his head but keeps his back pressed firmly against McCree. “I believe it to be nothing more than a passing fancy.”

“How long you been thinkin’ ‘bout this?”

“...Not long.” Hanzo knows he waited a beat too long to answer. McCree may put on a facade of one without their wits about them, but the man is sharp as a tack and perspective to match.

“Hanzo.” Ah, the admonishing tone of a McCree done with Hanzo’s half-truths. 

“Since our first poker night.”

McCree pulls away slightly, starting to turn around to face Hanzo, but seems to think better of it as he relaxes against Hanzo once more. “That was over a year ago,” he says softly. No tinge of accusation, no surprise, simply stating a fact--leaving it up to Hanzo to expand in whatever way he pleases. 

“Indeed it was,” is all Hanzo can say in response. His heart thunders against his ribcage so hard he’s sure McCree can feel it, as close as they are.

With every passing second of silence, Hanzo’s fight or flight instincts tilt further toward flight. But McCree deserves time to process, time to think. Surely no one is prepared for their best friend to say they’ve been thinking about rolling between sheets with you for nearly the entire span of the friendship. 

Eventually, McCree asks, “Is it just physical stuff you think about?”

And it’s not--Hanzo tells himself that it  _ is _ because that’s so much easier to deal with. But when he is away from McCree, all he can think about is finding the gunslinger if only to be in the same space as him. He can’t admit it to himself most nights, so how is he supposed to say it aloud?

“Han, please.”

McCree has said  _ please _ not once, but twice in one day. All because Hanzo is ‘emotionally constipated,’ as Genji once so elegantly put it. But he’s already here, McCree is still here and has not fled the room in anger that Hanzo has thought about them being intimate--what has he left to lose of his already dwindled dignity? “It is not always physical, I suppose.”

“Like… goin’ on dates ‘n stuff?”

“Sometimes.”

“Tell me about ‘em.”

Hanzo sighs and shifts away slightly. “This is ridiculous--”

“No, I’m serious.” McCree’s voice leaves no room for argument and halts Hanzo. “Lemme hear it.”

“...It is never anything spectacular, so to speak. Typically we eat together like we normally do and then we shoot together. We have one of our competitions where I of course win,” McCree interrupts with an incredulous scoff, “and then we drink together at the end of the evening.”

“We do that all the time, darlin’.”

With another heavy sigh, Hanzo sits up straighter, embarrassment crawling up his neck. He  _ knows _ it’s nothing out of the ordinary, but when McCree is away on a mission and Hanzo is left on base, it’s all he thinks about. “Yes we do, but the night usually brings us into one or the other’s bed sheets. Together.”

McCree gives a non committal hum, but says nothing.

“There is also usually more hand holding, fleeting touches throughout the day.”

“I see,” the gunslinger breathes out. 

“This is all foolish; nothing more than my years alone manifesting into misplaced hypotheticals. The dragons have overreacted as they insisted I tell you all this.” Hanzo relishes in the feeling of McCree’s heat against his back, wanting to hold onto this moment while it lasts--before the inevitable awkwardness sure to follow after this painful conversation and even more painful body switching fiasco. 

“I tell you what, them dragons are awful smart.”

“They are ancient spirits with thousands of years of wisdom and knowledge inside them, yes. But I am unsure what that has to do with,” Hanzo raises a hand and waves it around vaguely, “this.”

And then McCree chuckles--chuckles! the bastard!--sardonically. “Han, I ain’t exactly been the most subtle.”

“No, subtle is not a word I’d use to describe you. But, again, I do not understand what this has to do with our current situation.”

McCree’s voice is soft with some emotion Hanzo has trouble placing as he says, “I been sweet on you since you first got here, Han.”

“You have been quite friendly, yes. You were the first to do so--”

“More than friendly, darlin’.” It’s McCree’s turn to sigh as he slumps further down, pushing more into Hanzo’s back. “Reckon I wanted nothin’ more than to kiss you and hold you and make you mine since day one.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” McCree’s head falls heavily against the nape of Hanzo’s neck. “We been too stubborn to do anythin’ about this for far too long, honey.”

Hanzo chuckles. “I suppose so.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, McCree’s body tensing ever so slightly, before the gunslinger speaks. “But if--if’n it  _ is _ all physical for you, I don’t think I could do that.”

“I’ve never been in a romantic relationship.”

“I ain’t neither.” The smile in McCree’s voice is audible. “But I’m a patient man. We’ll make it work.”

Hanzo smiles to himself, a little ruefully. “I’m going to be very bad at this.”

“Han, I ain’t seen you be bad at anything you do.”

Heat rises to the tips of Hanzo’s ears. He’s grateful they’re facing away from each other because Hanzo has seen how  _ cute  _ McCree’s face is when he blushes and Hanzo can’t deal with that kind of embarrassment right now, heartstrings raw from all the honesty. 

“I’d turn around ‘n kiss you right now if it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done to kiss my own face.”

Hanzo laughs, full and hearty in McCree’s normal rasp. “I return the sentiment,” he manages between chuckles. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Hanzo sees McCree drop his hand behind himself, next to Hanzo’s thigh. Hanzo lowers his hand and intertwines their fingers. “There’ll be plenty ‘o time for kissin’ later.”

A smile slides across Hanzo’s face, tugging at the corners of his lips. It feels right, sitting here with McCree even if they aren’t exactly themselves at the moment. The sentiment is all the same, McCree’s fingers warm against his own. “Yes, later.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then the dragons switched them back and they lived happily ever after, the idiots. thanks for reading! <3
> 
> i made a mchanzo [tumblr](https://yeet-haw-n-dragonboy.tumblr.com/) where you can submit a fic request if you are so inclined!
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/OedipusOctopus) to hear me yell about my other fics/future works <3


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